by Amy Sandas
The animosity in his glare was clearly not directed at her.
“I remember you,” Hale said as his eyes narrowed above a slightly disfigured nose.
“Then you also recall that this woman is under my protection.”
“And you will recall that I don’t take lightly to threats.”
“I do not issue threats, Mr. Hale.”
Hale drew himself taut. His shoulders nearly spanned the width of the hall, and his square jaw lifted. “You think you can best me, do you?” He rolled his head on his thick neck, then stretched his lips in a menacing grin. “I’ve been aching for a good fight for more than a week. You would be doing me a favor, mate.”
“Do I look like a man who fights with his fists, Mr. Hale?” The earl’s response was given in a calm and even tone, but the intensity running beneath his words could not be misunderstood. “Release her, or you will regret it.”
Hale hesitated once he realized he would not get the fight he obviously wanted. His features shifted to something Lily suspected he rarely revealed. Obviously a man of violence, he appeared at a loss with how to respond to the earl’s controlled challenge.
“Now,” the earl demanded, still in that deathly calm voice.
As soon as Hale loosened his grip, Lily stepped back until she came up against the earl. He slid his arm around her waist, drawing her against his side with stiff movements.
His entire body was rigid and motionless.
Though he had let her go, Hale did not move aside to let them pass. He kept his focus locked on Lily as he spoke. “You’ve got nothing to fear from me, little dove.” He paused, and his expression tightened fiercely. Lily found herself wondering what this man concealed beneath his bullish exterior. “I regret what I had to do.” He shifted his attention back to the earl and gave an irreverent grin. “But it seems you’re doing all right.”
The earl’s hand flexed over her hip. “Good evening, Mr. Hale,” he replied, his voice hostile.
The large man gave a tug at his forelock, then turned and sauntered down the hall and out into the night.
The earl released the tension of his arm around her, allowing space to come between them. “That should not have happened. I am sorry.”
Lily shook her head. “It is all right. You could not have known he would be here.”
He did not reply, and Lily sensed his self-recrimination. But after another moment, he gently guided her forward. “I will see you home.”
Twenty
The Griffiths’ country estate possessed an enormous gothic-style manor and was located in the Cotswolds of Warwickshire. The manor was surrounded by several hundred acres and contained miles of walking trails, a flourishing trout stream, and some of the best hunting in the area. For guests who did not wish to wander too far afield, the house was adjacent to an extensive garden complete with a maze, various fountains, and several gazebos. The house itself contained two-dozen guest rooms, no less than seven public sitting rooms, a large music room, armory, library, game room with two billiard tables, a theater complete with a stage and seating for up to fifty, and a grand conservatory filled with citrus trees and windows overlooking the garden.
It was the perfect setting for a weekend party, perhaps the most idyllic location Lily had ever visited. Yet she could not enjoy it.
They had been there for two days. Two long days of endless socializing, fresh air, and diverting activities. Tonight was the night Lord Harte would be coming for her in his carriage. He would wait under the willow tree behind Angelique’s house.
And Lily would not come.
Because she was stuck in the Cotswolds until Monday.
With a very uncharacteristic growl of annoyance, Lily swung away from the window and paced across the room. She had retired early to the bedroom she shared with Portia, hoping to be asleep before her sister came up, so she could avoid the conversation she knew was coming. Portia had been sending her meaningful glances all day. Her sister had something she was burning to discuss.
But so far, Lily had been unable to sleep.
Her thoughts continually flew to the earl. She imagined him sitting in the silence of his carriage, waiting for her to join him. Would he think she did not want to see him? Would he worry that something had gone wrong? The idea of letting him down filled her with regret.
When she had first recalled that they would be going out of town for the weekend, she had nearly panicked. She would have tried to send him a note, but she had no idea how to address it. To inquire on the address of the Earl of Harte would have raised any number of questions she was not about to answer. And she certainly couldn’t send a message to Pendragon.
Lily wrapped her arms around herself, but it did nothing to ease her anxiety.
Then the bedroom door opened, and Portia swept in with a dramatic harrumph.
“I knew you would still be awake,” she declared. “You could have at least found a way to include me in your excuse to retire. Once you were gone, Emma insisted I stay until the charades had finished. It was dreadful.”
Lily realized too late she should have at least stayed in bed to have the option of feigning sleep.
“I am sorry, Portia. I was not feeling well.” It was essentially the truth, since her anxiety was causing a certain degree of physical distress.
“Hmm,” her sister replied with a sidelong glance as she strode forward to begin changing into the nightgown laid across her side of the bed. “Are you going to tell me what is going on with you, or shall I have to pry it out of you?”
Lily knew there was little point in denying it. She had not been herself the last couple of days. Her mood had been nearly as morose and anxious as Portia could get at times. She considered what she would say. Portia had always been her confidante. Only a bit more than a year apart in age, they had grown up side by side. They had shared everything.
What would Portia think if Lily told her about the earl?
“I hate this sense that we have been growing apart since our debuts. We used to be inseparable, Lily. I miss that,” Portia muttered in a glum tone.
She had finished changing into her nightgown and strode to sit at the vanity. Looking at Lily through the oval mirror, Portia began taking down her coiffure. Out of habit, Lily walked over to help her unravel the long sable tresses. Then she picked up the brush to run it through the remaining tangles.
“We are not growing apart, Portia, we are growing up,” Lily replied, trying to put another perspective on something she did not want to examine fully. “It is inevitable that we begin to lead more independent lives.”
Portia lowered her gaze with a deep frown as she began to fidget idly with the bric-a-brac on the vanity. “Independence is one thing, but you seem to be keeping secrets lately when such a thing never used to exist between us. I wish you could trust me, Lily.”
“I do trust you,” she replied after a few moments. “But there are some things too private to talk about.”
“Nonsense,” Portia exclaimed. “I tell you everything. Always have.”
Lily flicked her gaze up to meet her sister’s in the mirror. “Everything, Portia?”
Her younger sister stared mutinously back at her before she rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion. “Fine. Not everything. I suppose everyone has a few secrets.” She spun around in her seat to face Lily, grasping her hand. “But, Lily, I know when you are upset. I can see something is disturbing you, and I feel I should be given an opportunity to help.”
Lily smiled. Portia could not stand being inert when there might be something she could do.
“Is it Fallbrook again?” Portia asked.
Shaking her head, Lily nudged her sister’s shoulder to turn her around again so she could plait her hair into a neat braid.
“I saw you dancing with him earlier tonight,” Portia noted when Lily did not reply quickly enough. “What did he say
to make you look so distressed?”
Lily had experienced a moment of sheer panic when Lord Fallbrook first joined the country party earlier that day. But he had barely acknowledged her presence, let alone behaved in a way suggestive of the last time she had seen him—or rather, the last time she recalled seeing him.
The earl had assured her that Pendragon had consequences for those who broke her rules of discretion, but that did not mean Fallbrook would follow them. He could call her out at any moment and denounce her. He could ruin her with a few choicely used words, and there would be nothing she could do about it.
Gratefully, he had basically ignored her, and she did her best to return the favor.
That is, until the dancing started after dinner. Fallbrook had approached her for a dance while she stood in the company of their hosts. She had been unable to refuse without appearing rude.
There was nothing untoward in his conversation at first. Just a gleam in his eye, a sort of speculative curiosity. Then as the dance took them to the far end of the ballroom, he claimed the opportunity to lean toward her and whisper dramatically, “I have been warned to stay away from you, you know.”
The dread that had weighted Lily’s stomach from the moment she had seen him walking toward her sharpened to a near panic.
“Perhaps you should. Your behavior in Hawksworth’s garden was unforgivable,” she stated sternly, hoping he would focus on that incident and not bring up the other.
He laughed at her attempt at evasion.
“It is no matter. I do not intend to risk future diversions by being impatient,” he confided before he guided her in a turn that allowed him to slide his palm down over her buttocks before he took her gloved hand again. “I can wait until Harte tires of you,” he said. “Then nothing will keep you from being mine.”
The song came to an end. Fallbrook flashed her a charming grin, and then he bowed and walked off as though nothing had happened.
Recalling the incident, Lily again experienced a sharp stab of trepidation. The rest of the night, she hadn’t been able to keep from scanning every gentleman present, wondering if anyone else at the country party had been privy to her disgrace in Pendragon’s Pleasure House. It was supremely disturbing to know she might be recognized at any time.
It was another reason Lily had claimed the first available excuse to retire for the night.
Portia was still waiting for a response. Meeting her gaze in the mirror as she tied off the end of her long braid, Lily replied earnestly, “Fallbrook is no gentleman. Promise me you will avoid the man at all costs.”
Portia gave a snorting sort of laugh. “Oh, that is not necessary. The man already avoids me like the plague. I danced with him only once after the time he tried to lure you into the garden. I made it clear in no uncertain terms what I thought of his behavior. He was rather annoyed and took me back to Angelique before the dance was even halfway through.”
Lily smothered her own laugh. She could imagine Portia’s burning set-down. “I so admire your audacity, Portia.”
“You could do the same, Lily.” She rose to her feet to face Lily with an impassioned expression.
“No, I cannot.” Lily turned away to extinguish the few candles that were still lit.
“That is a terrible lie, Lily Imogene Chadwick,” Portia stated, setting her hands on her hips. “You have a deeply hidden vein of wickedness in your soul, and someday you will have to explore it. If you haven’t already.”
Lily tensed at the knowing tone in her sister’s voice.
“You know I have never had your courage or Emma’s confidence to do anything other than exactly what is expected of me.”
“Bollocks.”
“Portia!”
The younger girl arched her fine black brows. “Oh yes, how silly of me. I forgot that all of the young ladies I know keep a collection of sinful, erotic novels and daydream of being ravished.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Not ravished, exactly.”
“Then what?” Portia pressed. “What do you dream of? And do not dare tell me it is to marry one of those dull suitors who have latched on to you. Not one of those gentlemen would know how to make you happy if it were spelled out in an instruction manual.”
Lily ignored Portia’s rising tone and turned away to flip down the bedcovers.
“What would you have me do, Portia?”
There was a pause.
“I want you to be happy. Are you happy?”
Lily did not answer. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she bent her head to look down at her hands folded in her lap. Was she happy? No, but she believed she could be.
Portia came forward to kneel in front of her. Her voice softened as she continued. “All I am trying to say is that we all deserve to seek our happiness, wherever that leads us. And we should support each other in that endeavor.”
The youngest Chadwick’s expression turned bullish. “You should know I have decided I may never marry.” Lily opened her mouth to argue, but Portia shook her head. “I am not willing to sacrifice the kind of life I want for myself in order to satisfy some man’s idea of what behavior is or is not appropriate. I cannot be what these people”—she swept her arm out in a gesture to encompass their surroundings—“or Emma want me to be.”
Lily arched her brows. “What? You mean obedient, reverent, contented?”
Portia made a face of disgust. “Exactly.”
“I know, Portia,” Lily replied. “You were always meant for other things, and I promise I will support your endeavors to find happiness along whatever path you choose.”
“Even if it causes scandal?”
Lily narrowed her eyes. “Why? Are you contemplating causing a scandal?”
Portia shrugged as she took a seat on the bed beside Lily.
“One doesn’t always plan such things. Sometimes they simply happen, and I want you to know that I would stand by you in the same circumstances.”
Panic swept through Lily as she once again thought of Fallbrook. “Have you heard any whispers about…that night?”
“No,” Portia answered quickly. “I was speaking hypothetically, in case you wished to engage in some outrageous behavior.”
Lily gave a weak laugh. “I cannot imagine what that might be.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Considering your reading habits, I would think you could imagine far more than I could.”
“Portia!”
The youngest Chadwick laughed and gave a saucy shrug. “I just think it is far past time for you to be a little daring. Take a risk. Explore a bit of that wickedness buried within you before Emma has you settled down with a perfectly boring old country gentleman.”
Lily glanced aside to evade the intensity in Portia’s quicksilver gaze. She couldn’t help but wonder if sneaking off to a brothel to make love with a sensual and enigmatic lord would be daring enough in Portia’s opinion.
The thought filled her with the sudden urge to laugh. She rolled her lips in to hold it back, but Portia had noted her expression.
“What? What is so amusing?”
Lily rubbed her hands over her face before meeting Portia’s gaze.
“I am sorry, but this is one secret I cannot share. Even with you. Not yet.”
Portia’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. Lily could see her sister resisting the urge to argue. Then she appeared to reconsider. Her expression softened, and she sighed.
“Just promise me something, Lily.”
“Of course.”
“I swear I cannot withstand the sight of another sister descending into self-inflicted misery. If you have the opportunity to be happy—truly happy—promise me you will take it. No matter the consequences.”
Lily felt the sincerity in her sister’s words down to her marrow. The earl’s image encroached upon the back of her mind, but she shoved it away.
; “I promise, if you do the same.”
Portia nodded and gave a wink. “I never had any intention otherwise. Now, how the hell do we get Emma to make such a vow?” Portia asked as she dropped onto the bed and rolled over to tuck herself in on her side.
It was on the tip of Lily’s tongue to chastise Portia for her language, but she realized it was more out of habit than any true objection.
She sighed as she also climbed beneath the covers. “An excellent question.”
Emma had not been the same since the night of Lily’s abduction. She was distracted, distant, as though her thoughts were always somewhere else. Of course, she no longer had the urgent motivation of getting her sisters settled into matrimony, but still, Emma had become practically aimless over the last weeks. It was entirely outside her nature to be so unfocused.
Lily had a suspicion as to the cause of her older sister’s altered manner. And for that reason, she was reluctant to interfere.
“I do not know it is our business to pry.”
“Nonsense.” Portia snorted. “You know as well as I what has her out of sorts, just as you know what is holding her back. If we do nothing, she will continue to martyr herself for our sake.”
Portia had a point. Emma would never consider acting on her feelings for Mr. Bentley. An association with the proprietor of a gambling hell would cause a scandal that would reflect on all of them. It was the reason Emma’s employment at the club had to be covert.
Rolling onto her side, Lily tucked her hands beneath her cheek as she met Portia’s wily gaze. Memories rushed to mind of when they had been young and would crawl into each other’s beds to whisper secrets and giggle into the night.
“What do you propose we do?”
Portia grinned in the darkness. “We will have to wait for the right opportunity. Emma is not going to get away with dooming herself to a life of loneliness on our account. If it requires drastic measures to make that happen, that is what we shall do.”
